Jan 15

silence is better than a lie

his lips are a closed door and the words are hiding inside.
i know he means them, even if door is locked because his mouth is scared.
the words don’t need to jump out just yet because i kissed him
and i felt them.

Dec 02


I put too much cream in my coffee again this
morning. don't know why I keep doing that.
what I usually do is fill my spoon with
cream, and stir it into the coffee. perfect. but
lately I've been forgetting small parts of my
routines or doing them backwards.

I put too much cream in my coffee. it tasted
so wrong, I could only bear to drink three
and a half sips before dumping it down the
drain. wasteful, I know, but I never would
have finished it anyway.

I put too much cream in my coffee. I can't
trust my shaking hands. I overfilled my spoon
with a jerk of my frail hand. 

I put too much cream in my coffee and I
can't focus properly. I put too much red
paint with the yellow and ruined a painting
I've been working on for weeks. I put too
much cheese in my scrambled eggs and the
cheese stuck to the pan. I put too much
Nov 17

the best of pens and their lazy brothers

Some pens are better than  others.
it’s true that not all writing utensils
are             created             equal.
Some pens are smooth,  and flow
across  the page, putting ideas on
paper  in the   most  beautiful way
any             pen                 could.
Other       pens      are    scratchy,
forcing  a   writer   to   frustratedly
scribble   on    a     separate page,
begging        them     to        work.
lazy                                    pens.
They collect  their  ink in  droplets
on the other side of their  tips and
let   it    fall    onto   your   writing.
a glob in the middle of your poem,
a   splotch   on   your   otherwise
adorable                           doodle.
it’s a   blemish  in   your notebook,
Oct 08


hair’s          a          mess.
mascara’s              running.
             at your
1:27 a.m.
what’s    the    point?
   useless         unwanted
             stupid               unloved.
wipe     away     tears.
       live your sparkling               lie.

Oct 06

creating constellations

She lays back in the grass,
blades poking at her bare arms.
she doesn’t mind.

miles away,
he carefully spreads out the quilt
that still smells like her.
He can’t stand the feeling of grass
on his skin

She absentmindedly plucks it
with her left hand.

he lays down
and through long breaths, rising
above him into the darkness,
the stars are visible.
in the stars, he sees so many constellations.
Orion, Cassiopeia, Aries,
and her eyes.

all she sees are white dots, glowing
in the sky.
The big dipper is right there.
he’d tried to teach her how to see them.
she searched and searched,
no lines came to connect the stars.
she closed her eyes,
aware of all the night’s sounds around her.
when they finally fluttered
the only thing she saw
was him.
Oct 06

Winter Tales

the sun has kissed the ice-covered horizon
the rest of my family is inside,
sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows.
the television's flickering glow bounces outside.
I lay in the snow outside, small fingers going numb
one by one.
breath puffs outward in small white clouds.
the cold isn't real unless I believe it's real. 
My hair's short curls are frozen in place
and my snow suit has become heavy with 
snow, melted by body heat.
What if I sleep here? 
just for tonight.
Would Santa Claus come to take me to 
the North Pole?
or would I die from frost biting me, 
like mommy said I would?
I wiggle my toes in my too-big boots. 
How long would I have to wait?
Oct 06

in the woods

Trees tower over me,


reaching their arms high up toward the sky.

Moonlight falls down around



                 bats’ wings.

cool air chills skin.

nose runny and cold,

ears pink under curly hair.

The air smells subtly of autumn -

damp dirt mixing with microwaved coffee.

my feet fall onto the

ground, scattered with leaves.

every step is a


Oct 06
fiction 0 comments challenge: 802


Vermont is a beautiful state of vibrant colors and different kinds of people. I have never known anything else. 
And of all the places i can think to spend the rest of my life,
Vermont is my last choice. 

My whole family is here, contained in this small state.
All of my childhood memories and every one of my close friends trapped within this giant forest. 

But I want to escape. 
I hate living in a place where everyone seems to know everyone,
but somehow I feel invisible.
I hate living in a place where I constantly feel judged.
I hate living in a place so suffocating that even your most reasonable dreams are too ambitious.

So I'm (not) sorry, Vermont.
It's not me. It's you.